Erik Ingests Pixie Stix
by hieiandkuramalover
Summary: COMPLETE! Erik has ingest pixie stix...The Opera Populair will NEVER be the same after this. Rated for bad language and the frighteningness of a sugarhigh Erik
1. The Dangers of Pixie Stix

Disclaimer: The usual, I don't own Phantom of the Opera, blah, blah, blah.

First and foremost:

POTO FANS: PLEASE DON'T LYNCH ME! THIS CAME OUT OF FOUR CUPS OF COFFEE WITH LOTSA SUGRAR! IT INDUSES MADNESS I TELL YOU!

Anyway: Our beloved Erik gets introduced to Pixie Stix and goes on a sugar-high rampage. Oh God, the Opera Populair will NEVER be the same.

Warning: serious silliness, convenient mood swings, sugar-highness, and last but not least some poor folks getting stalked by a sugar-intolerant Erik

Enjoy

* * *

Another quiet day in the darkness of the Opera Populair's labyrinth of tunnels. Erik had been wandering down them for a while, thinking to himself. Not many clever or genius thoughts had come that day, and in fact, it seemed he was quite stuck as far as 1) his music and 2) scaring the life out of the singers and ballerinas went. No ideas for either one, absolutely none. It was aggravating to the point of being ready to slam his head against the wall for some relief. 

It wasn't long before he was back in Box Five to watch rehearsals for the latest play they were putting on. It wasn't anything spectacular really, but it was a way to pass the time. Maybe, he thought, watching someone else's work would help inspire work of his own.

So far, it wasn't working at all.

Not long after, Madam Giry found her way into the box with a friendly greeting toward the Phantom.

"Good afternoon Erik," she said kindly, sitting next to him. "What do you think so far of our latest production?"

"One," he said, holding up a gloved finger, "Carlotta once again ruins what would be a semi- good performance. Two," he held up another, "all the dancers are off by at least three beats. Three," he held up a third finger, "I am bored as I've ever been. Yes, it's a _wonderful_ afternoon Madam." Madam G. cast him a look, but it was quickly gone from her face as her eyes returned to the stage.

"I admit it's not the best I've seen them perform..."

"You think?"

"I know," Madam G. said sternly. "Though I'm rather curious as to the reason you're here my old friend. Usually you are never to be found. Well, not since Raoul and Christine went through with the wedding." At this there was a very visible twitch of Erik's person and for a moment he looked like he would lose his temper and maybe rip out one of the seats and toss it down onto the stage. Luckily though, he just huffed angrily.

"I...can't write music as of late," he said, as though the mere thought was extremely embarrassing.

"Composer's Block?"

"Bingo," he said, snapping his fingers. He folded his arms on the ledge of the box, leaning forward only slightly so that he could rest his chin on his folded arms. "I don't know what's doing it, but it's doing a damn good job. I can't think of anything."

"Perhaps all you need is the right influence," Madam G. suggested. Erik looked over at her, the one visible eyebrow arching curiously.

"Influence?"

"Of course. For instance, I've heard it said that musical comedy writers have to get drunk beyond recognizing themselves in a mirror before they can write something decent."

"You don't say. That would explain some of the obvious idiocy you see in some of those things," he said, leaning back in his seat. "Are you suggesting I drink till I think my shadow is attacking me?"

"Oh heavens no!", she said quickly. A regular Erik was bad enough...God only knows what a drunken one was like. "I'm merely suggesting a certain...stimulus to get the creative juice flowing, so to speak."

"Stimu-" His eyes widened. "MADAM, YOU HAVE A SICK, SICK MIND!" Now it was Madam G.'s turn to widen her eyes and look repulsed.

"NOT LIKE THAT YOU PERVERT!"

"Oh," he said. "Well...then...do go on." Madam G. cast him another look before continuing.

"And you say _I_ have a sick mind, really," she muttered before continuing. "Well, there's a very recent invention that I think may help. I happen to have one with me right now." She began digging through a small purse tied around her waist and fished out what looked like a small white straw. However, when she shook it, there was a soft sifting noise, like when sand starts pouring from a timer.

"What is that, if I may ask Madam," Erik asked curiously.

"Well, it's been called a Pixie Stick, or at least that's what the girls call it."

"What is it exactly?"

"Sugar. Almost pure sugar with a bit of tart flavor to it. You see, the sugar instead of being white, comes in many colors: blue, red, yellow, what have you. Also, each color is a different flavor: blue is blue-raspberry, red is cherry, yellow is lemon etc, etc." Erik looked at the little stick in amazement. Pure sugar? Who would consume such a thing? Erik had never really tasted sugar, but had heard about it's effects in mass quantities. He'd also rarely SEEN the effects as well, so no real way to tell if what he'd heard was true.

"And you believe this will help me?" Madam G. nodded.

"It should, or at least lighten your mood a little," she said, handing it to him. Erik shrugged, it couldn't hurt. After all, this was lowest he'd felt in a LOOONG time. He took the little stick from Madam G.'s hand and proceeded to try and figure out how to open the blasted thing. After several tries, including one where he tried to rip it open with his teeth, the older woman sighed and took it back.

"I'll open it," she said, exasperated.

"Appreciated," Erik said, knowing that if she hadn't figured out how to open it he would never have gotten then damn thing open.

Once she'd succeeded, she handed the white straw back to Erik who inspected it a moment.

"Just put the open end to your mouth and tip it up," she explained. "The sugar should flow right out." Erik quickly did as she instructed and sure enough the sandy substance fell right onto his tongue. He made a brief face as the sour taste followed. However, after a few moments, the shock of it faded and he was able to swallow the sugar down. It was actually pretty good, if you were prepared for the tang.

"Not bad," he said, a rare smile crossing his lips.

"Well, it _is_ popular for a reason I suppose," Madam G. said. Erik quickly finished the first Pixie Stick and pouted like a child when it was finally gone. After turning it completely upside down to try and get whatever was left, Madam G. pulled out another white straw with the sugar in it, opened it, then handed it to Erik, who was done with that one very soon as well.

He went through five of those things. And by the time they were gone...Oh. My. God.

Erik...was giggling.

Yes...giggling ladies and not ladies.

"Erik...," Madam G. said cautiously to the giggling phantom. "Are you feeling all right?"

"BETTER THEN ALL RIGHT!", he said, standing up with a fist help up, as though in triumph. Madam G. could only blink at the site before her. Erik was laughing loudly with one foot up on the ledge and fist still help up in triumph, as though her were pretending her were Napoleon. "I FEEL GREAT!" The unusually bright smile was the final straw. Madam G. pulled Erik back into the box, throwing him into a seat. "OW! THAT HURT!", he said loudly, pouting and rubbing the arm she'd pulled on.

"Erik, I think you had one too many of those things," she said, sounding very much like a worried mother.

"Naaaah, I'm fine Madam!", he proclaimed, again with the child-like smile.

"_Mon dieu _what have a done?", she said miserably, rubbing her head and looking at the floor, thinking of what to do. See now, here's where she makes Big Mistake Number 2. Big Mistake Number 1 was giving Erik pure flavored sugar in the first place. He took her moment of distraction to promptly get out of his seat and bolt into the hall.

"SUCKER!", he yelled, taking off down the carpeted hallway, laughing like a maniac. "THE PHANTOM OF THE OPERA LIIIIIIVES! MUWAHAHAHA!"

And he's off.

"Dear God...," Madam G. said, her face adorned with a look of morbid fear. "What have I unleashed upon this opera house?"

* * *

Funny? 

Stupid?

Wondering why I dared give Erik sugar?

You tell me in a review. OR I SHALL SEND SUGAR-HIGH ERIK AFTER ALL OF YOU!


	2. Carlotta

Disclaimer: Once again...Grg, I don't own Phantom of the Opera

O.O Wow...O.O I didn't expect such a good response... yes, I thought a sugar-high Erik would be a funny idea so I just started writing it for fun.

AND OUR FIRST VICTIM IS...

(warning: Carlotta bashing)

* * *

Erik's POV

Muwahaha!

Inspiration: you are my favorite lover! At last, a way to set that detestable woman in her place! I don't know what it is about Carlotta that annoys the crap outta me, BUT IT WORKS! Must be the way she struts around, Prima Dona we all know she is, like she owns the freaking place! IT'S MY OPERA HOUSE DAMN IT!

But, I at least have thought of a way to scare her right out of that too-tight corset of hers. No wonder she can't sing well with that thing on, it probably blocks the air passage and...she's so fat after all! It must be a horrible burden. However, I will so relieve her of said burden. MY MASTER PLAN WILL GO INTO EFFECT AT REHERSALS THIS AFTERNOON! Carlotta wants so much attention, eh? Well, she'll be getting a lot of it after this!

But first: supplies! I need rope, a...a...Ah crud, what do you call those things that hang above the stage again? I ALWAYS FORGET! CRAP! Whatever they're called, I'll be using one in my little plan.

Heh-heh-heh-heh.

Regular POV

Madam G. walked around in a frenzy trying to find Erik. He was loose and hopped up on sugar and this could not bode well for anyone within the opera house.

"Vicomte," she panted, crossing Raoul in the hallway. "Have you seen him?"

"You mean Erik?"

"No, I mean the ghost of Napoleon! WHO DO YOU THINK BOY! Now tell me if you've seen him or not!" Nowadays, we would say that the dear Vicomte did something along the lines of OO at the shouting of the usually very calm Madam G.

"Has...something happened madam? And please don't yell at me." Madam G. took a deep breath, rubbing her head as though in pain.

"I think I may have made a horrible mistake," she said, trying to remain calm, though she was anxious to find her sugar-intolerant friend and get him underground where there would be no injuries. Raoul gave her a concerned look.

"How so madam?" She sighed.

"I gave him pure sugar." Once again, I'll bring up the idea of Raoul doing this: OO

"You did what!", he said, obviously more then a little concerned at the prospect of a sugar high phantom running about.

"I know, I know, it was foolish. He obviously can't hold his sweets," Madam G. said, folding her arms. "Point is, I'm very worried. He has it in for a lot of people here. You being one of them." The vicomte went visibly pale, his mouth barely a thin line. He hadn't known whether or not the famed O.G. was still angry at him for the whole Christine thing. Apparently the guess was very much right and he now had a sugar-high maniac on the loose. All in all, it wasn't that calming of an equation.

"I'm dead," he said finally. "I'm gonna die in the freaking night."

"NOT if we find him monsieur," Madam G. pointed out. Raoul nodded, acknowledging this idea as a quite good one.

"Right then. Now think...who is he gonna go after first?" It didn't take long for both to snap their fingers and look at each other in mutual knowing.

"Carlotta," they said in unison. Within mere seconds, they plugged their ears and made way to the stage. Rehearsals were still going strong and, unfortunately, so was Carlotta's voice. It echoed through the halls and rooms like the cry of a banshee that wouldn't shut up until the person who's death it had come to foretell put a bullet in their brain just to put an end to the screeching.

That was a very good analogy for Carlotta...

And a horrifically accurate one. As the Vicomte and Madam G. finally got to the stage, they could not have guessed who currently stood above them on one of the swinging...things.

"Signora," the vicomte started to say, getting abruptly cut off by a particularly loud and high note coming out of Carlotta's over-lipped mouth. He mad a face, as though straining not to put his hands to his ears to save himself some a severely busted ear drum.

When at last she was finished, the vicomte was allowed to continue.

"Signora," he said. "I'm afraid you might be in a good teal of danger." Carlotta gave him a confused look, combined with a slightly pouted lip. "You see...I have strong reason to believe that our beloved Opera Ghost is going on a sugarcoated rampage." This just earned more stares from the other dancers around him. He sighed and held his head. "I'll explain later, but we _must_ get you out of here, lest you fall prey to some horrible prank."

Too little, too late I'm afraid.

A can of red paint promptly fell on the soprano's head, drenching her in it. She screamed loudly, tensing up and her face clenching like when a cat is about to lunge at some unsuspecting fool. A tirade of screaming followed, some of it in an understandable language but most of it in Italian so that no one knew what she was screaming at them. Many of the people around snickered behind their hands like they had when Carlotta lost her voice, again courtesy of Erik.

And as if the paint weren't enough, not many saw it, but a small hook on a long piece of strong thread was slowly creeping down toward the stage. Carefully, and with practiced skill, it hooked under the hem of Carlotta's costume. One final tug back upward and...

THUMP!

Carlotta fell face forward, her dress going up over her head, and more screams coming out of her throat in mostly Italian. The snickers broke out into full-blown laughter at the Phantom's newest tactics. Childish though they were, they were funny as anything. What the people did notice was three little notes, sealed with a bright red skull drifting down. Raoul caught one, Madam G. another, and Meg, who had been one of the ballerinas dancing caught the last one.

"After you Vicomte," Madam G. instructed. Raoul quickly opened the letter and proceeded to read it aloud.

* * *

_'Dear Madam Giry, My Beloved Vicomte, and any they read this note to, _

_HA! I STRIKE AGAIN! I am going on a revenge spree on all you suckers! You don't know when and you don't know how, BUT I'LL GET YOU! HA!_

_Sugar-highly yours,_

_O.G._

_

* * *

_The Vicomte looked at Madam G. briefly, both of them wearing the same worried expression. She opened the letter in her hand and began to read as well.

* * *

_THE PHANTOM LIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIVES! MUWAHAHAHAHA!_ _

* * *

_

She looked at Meg, who had already opened the note and she read it.

* * *

_By the way, Madam Giry, if you happen to run across a black glove somewhere behind the stage, that's mine and I would very much like it back. I'm running around with ONE glove and it...it just feels weird you know? Like running with one shoe. _

So, yes, again: MUWAHAHAHAHAHA!

FEAR MY POWER!

O.G.

* * *

"Mother?", Meg said, raising an eyebrow at Madam G. who looked ready to faint. Carlotta had long since stormed off the stage, screaming about how outraged she was. Raoul had his head in his hands as though someone had hit him outside the skull. Sugar-high Eric was still on the loose and many people were at risk. Himself included. 

Where will the Phantom strike next?

* * *

Once again, I'm thanking my reviewers for their support. n.n I honestly didn't expect there to be such a great response. THANKS AGIAN! AND HOPE YOU LIKED THIS CHAPTER TOO! 


	3. Monsieur Firimin and Andre

Disclaimer: sighs Do we really need to go through this again? Geeze. I don't own PotO! Satisfied?

Well, chapter three comin' at ya! With the epic BTSTB goin' on, I don't get much of a chance to write pure humor so, this is a great relief. That's also why it's taking so long for the next chapter of BTSTB to get put up. Sadly, I regret that there are just so many ideas swirling around in this head of mine that it's hard to focus on just one.

I pray that you can be forgiving of my for this.

* * *

"HAHAHAHA!", Erik was laughing so hard that it hurt to even move. He'd wanted to pull that on Carlotta for so long! He supposed it just took the right motivation was all. "And that stuff Madame Giry gave me sure did help," he said with a smile. He managed to struggle to his feet and stand properly. It took a great deal of effort, but that could be easily overlooked by the smug look of satisfaction that he wore across his face. 

Who should be get back at next?

Raoul!

No...save him for last, he thought with a sinister grin.

Christine?

No...he wasn't really THAT mad at her...just horrifically heartbroken and lost all faith in mankind. Then again...didn't have very much faith in mankind to begin with. But, returning to the matter at hand: if not Raoul or Christine then who? He snapped his fingers when it hit him. It seemed so obvious now! I mean, DUH!

Monsieur Firimin, and monsieur Andre!

The little _merde_-heads that refused to pay him! But what to do...what to do...? That was the question. He could think of many things he would LIKE to put them through...but they were a little mean. Erik didn't necessarily hate them...as much as he just...wanted to watch them run out of his opera house screaming like little 12 year old, prepubescent girls.

But how to do it? That was the question that required true thought. Erik's brow furrowed in deep thought as to how he would get his revenge on the two businessmen.

Meanwhile...

"Are you sure you didn't see him?", Raoul said, after interrogating one of the stage hands (one of several). When the man confirmed for the last time that he had not seen hide or hair of the acclaimed Phantom of the Opera, he quickly walked away back to what he was doing. Raoul sighed, trying to remain calm about the situation, but it wasn't helping too much, especially with the knowledge that the Phantom had a PARTICULARLY large grudge against him.

"Vicomte," Madame G. said worriedly. "No one has seen him?"

"No. Not a soul I regret to say," the younger man said. "I realize he knows every twist and turn of this opera house like the back of his hand, but really! To just disappear like that?"

"He is not called "Opera _Ghost_" only because it leaves a strong impression monsieur," she replied wisely. He nodded his head as though to say "true, very true".

"Is there any...hidden place he could be hiding in Mme.?" The elder woman had to consider this question heavily for a moment, her shin held in her hand, brow furrowing in hard thought.

"None that I know of," she admitted. Raoul looked visibly crestfallen, his eyes still holding that shine of fear.

Meanwhile...

"Now I'm hungry," Erik complained, holding his stomach as it growled loudly. He'd taken a round trip so that he'd wound up in his manager's office. He glanced at the desk and noticed two tin lunchboxes. Apparently due to the vast amount of paperwork that had been piling up, they'd decided to bring a lunch with them today so they could eat in the office.

Erik grinned broadly and proceeded to open the first one.

"Let's see...an apple...a banana...," he said to himself, listing the various items that he found in the tin box. "Ewwww! Bologna! I hate bologna, it's basically just the crap the cow left behind. Blech," he said, sticking out his tongue childishly. Without so much as a second though, he tossed the sandwich over his shoulder, paying no mind to the squishy sounding 'plop' it made.

He found, all together, the apple, banana, a bar of German chocolate, and some cold tomato soup. The soup got dumped into a nearby plant, seeing as Erik found out the hard way that he was allergic to tomatoes. After going through the contents of one lunchbox, he turned on the other one.

"OOH! Peanut butter and jelly!", he almost squealed, taking a bite of the delicious confection. Hey, it's an addiction, worse then drugs. Once he'd started on that, he rummaged through the rest of the contents of the lunchbox, sitting on the desk as he did so, allowing his legs to kick back and forth like a child in a waiting room.

In this one he came upon, in addition to the sandwich he now ate, he found some cold hot chocolate. That stuff was heaven in liquid form, this he would swear on any and every holy book there might be. There was also a brownie, a pear and a few celery stalks. The brownie was the only thing of those three that made it into his mouth.

Pears tasted yucky and celery was even worse.

He licked his lips after finishing off the lukewarm hot chocolate, having used that do wash down the PB&J sandwich, brownie, and banana. All in all it hadn't been a bad meal, even better because it had been supplied by his lovely managers. A smile crossed his lips at the thought. He supposed this would be his way of getting back at those two.

He hopped off of the desk and proceeded to the portrait that would lead to one of the many corridors that he could follow back down to his "lair". He wished he could be around when he saw the looks on those two fools' faces. Undoubtedly it would be priceless, but he really had to plan his revenge on Raoul, since it had already been several hours and he could feel himself starting to fade.

About 15 minutes later...

"MADAME GIRY! MADAM GIRY!", Raoul shouted, looking for her in every which direction his head could turn. The aged woman finally showed herself, having been searching for Erik behind the stage.

"I'm here Monsieur Vicomte, not need to shout," she said calmly. "What is it?"

"He's struck again," Raoul said, sounding like he had a fierce migraine. "Monsieur Firimin and Monsieur Andre found their office a mess, not to mention their lunches gone."

"Gone? Oh God..."

"According to them, he dumped tomato soup into a plant, which died, threw a bologna sandwich at the wall, splattering it everywhere and the opposite wall is decorated with splattered pear guts."

There was a long silence, in which both Raoul and Madame G. were thinking this over. As of now, Erik had struck against Carlotta, Monsieur Firimin and Monsieur Andre. Who was left?

Raoul's eyes widened and they were filled with terror.

"Oh God I think I'm going to be sick," he said nauseously, having to lean against a wall for support. It didn't do it's job and he sunk to the floor, holding his head. Madame Giry sat next to him, putting a comforting hand on his shoulder.

"The sugar is starting to wear off...it HAS been several hours since in ingested it so...I can't imagine him doing anything too horrible now that his rush is ending," she said, trying to comfort the distressed Vicomte.

"Don't bet on it. Even when he's a sugar-high fool the man is a genius, that much I'll admit," he said. It was true. Erik may have been mad, a loony, crazier then all get out, but the man was still as clever as they come. He was a genius despite the madness that years alone had done to him.

"All I can tell you is that you hide," Madame Giry. "Find a room somewhere, and hide."

"Good idea," the Vicomte said, getting to his feet. He walked off the stage, his gait slightly quicker then normal. Little did he know that said genius/madman sat on one of the things hanging above the stage, taking another bite out of his stolen apple.

"Hm...I have something special in mind for you my beloved Vicomte," he said with a sinister grin. "If all goes well...I am gonna leave you scarred for life."

He took another bite of his apple, getting up from he seat and walking off it, into the shadows as per usual.

* * *

Welp, that's all for now! Please review! 


	4. Coming Down But Going Right Back Up

Disclaimer: WHY MUST YOU ALWAYS PUT ME THROUGH THIS AGONY! I don't own PotO! Happy!

Well, I must sincerely thank Abby Kovac for your suggestion n.n I thank you so much! I was really stuck!

* * *

"Dear lord, my head...," Erik groaned, deciding to hell with all the secret passages and twisting corridors it hurt too much to try and weave in and out, in and out. He'd decided to just casually stride through the ballerina dormitories. Since they were currently rehearsing there was no one there to scare away or to see him which he found most advantageous. 

He managed to stumble through the mess. Good God! Didn't these women know about the invention of the hamper? Bras, corsets, skirts and a few other things he didn't even try to figure out littered the ground and twice almost made him trip and fall flat on his face. Oh that would've struck fear into everyone's heart. The ever mysterious Opera Ghost tripping over a bra and landing with an undignified THUMP on his face. Yup...terrifying.

And it happened.

Though...instead of tripping on a bra, it was a smallish-large chest right in the middle of the room. Who the HELL puts a chest like that in the middle of a freaking room! It was baffling the stupidity of some of these women!

THE MIDDLE OF THE ROOM!

Anyway, Erik, instead of falling flat on his face, fell flat on his back and instead with an undignified THUMP, it was an undignified and degrading WHAM! Not much better then the aforementioned scenario upon retrospect. In any case, he fell flat on his back after trying to step over the stupid thing but his foot caught on the latch and he did a reverse trip. A reverse trip, children, is when instead of falling forward as in a normal trip, he fell backward. With an undignified and degrading WHAM!

It hurt.

Erik almost screamed: WHAT THE F IS THESE PEOPLE'S FING PROBLEM! YA DON'T LEAVE YOUR CRAP IN THE MIDDLE OF THE FING ROOM FOR THE LOVE OF GOD!

Thankfully...he had more self control and settled for kicking the offending chest to the other side of the room. The thing about doing this, you see, was that it opened the chest somehow or another. There's a whole scientific explanation for it, but as of right now let's just say that the force with which he kicked it against the wall was enough to pop it open. Open and have several long thin straws roll out...hm?

Erik raised an eyebrow at this. These straws seemed oddly familiar, like he'd seen them before. He cautiously crept closer to the straws to see what they could possibly be and was amazed to discover that these were the same straws that Mme. Giry had presented himself with earlier that day. What was it she had called them? Pixie sticks? Was that it? Erik shrugged. The name was not as important as was the substance contained within the unnamed straws.

Once more came the problem of opening one of them. He tried with his fingers, his teeth, even with his mind, but nothing seemed to work. That was when his eyes laid sights on a pair of scissors on a night stand nearby. He grinned and reached for them, knowing that they were the key to unlocking the heavenly sugar contained within.

Snip. It was opened.

SSSSSSSSSS. It poured down his throat.

WHOOOOSH! It took effect.

But it wasn't as strong as he would need for it to be.

Snip. Another opened.

SSSSSSSSSS. Another one poured down his throat.

WHOOOOSH! Another took effect.

Thus it went...

And five minutes later, there was this:

"IF I WERE A RICH MAN! BLAH, BLAH, BLAH, BLAH, BLAH, BLAH, BLAH, BLAH, BLAH, BLAH, BLAH, BLAH, BLAH! ALL DAY LONG DA-DA-DA-DA-DA-DA! IF I WERE A WEALTHY MAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAN! YEAH!" Bound out of the room, with a bright smile on his face.

How he knew Fiddler on the Roof is anyone's guess.

With his blood sugar level near diabetic, Erik launched himself out of the room with thoughts of revenge stirring in his brilliant skull again. Of course, the bigger problem at the moment was trying to weave in and out, in and out of all the twisting corridors and remembering where the passages were. Even though he'd lived in this opera house for many, many years, that didn't make remembering where things were any easier, in fact that almost made it more difficult. After all, even in his head there was room for only so much.

Along the way, Fiddler on the Roof somehow switched to-

"THE WHEELS ON THE BUS GO ROUND AND ROUND! ROUND AND ROUND! ROUND AND ROUND!"

How he knew what a bus was is anyone's guess.

* * *

A/N: I'm not sure if they wore bras back then but...oh well. I'm basically just going off what MY rooom looks like n.n; Only I don't have corsets and skirts lying around. 


	5. Finale

Disclaimer: I don't own POTO. I just manipulate the characters :)

WARNING: this chapter contains slight yaoi. Though I am a fan of Erik/Raoul, this is not meant as such. It's just Erik scarring Raoul for life.

Ho ho ho Phanny ish effil.

I am so getting lynched for this.

* * *

Raoul had decided it may be best to hide out in the room he and Christine had been sharing in the Opera House. Perhaps here there would be at least some sanctuary. However, so clouded was his mind and...apparently his vision, by relief, that he did not noticed the figuring standing behind the mirror. A masked figure dressed totally in black and grinning with a look that could have only been devilishly charming malice. 

Once the door was locked and bolted, Raoul plopped onto his back on the bed, hands on his face in either pure frustration of relief. It was hard to tell from Erik's place behind the mirror. He cackled inwardly to himself. This was going to be his greatest prank yet! Oh he was going to hell for it all right, but oh well! Caution was being thrown to the wind in a rush of tangy sugar!

Slowly the mirror was pulled back into the long dark corridor, making neigh a sound. Raoul had rolled onto his side, back to the Phantom who currently crept into his room with a fiendish grin. A grin that, today, had been showing itself more so then usual. Huh. In any case, he crept into the room thinking only about the ultimate revenge on the one who'd stolen the love of his life. Oh, and by the by, Christine hadn't gone unpunished, it was just a little juvenile prank like switching her laundry detergent with pure corn starch.

Muwahahaha.

Ever so slowly, and with all the grace expected from the Opera Ghost, Erik stole over to the bed and laid one knee on the edge, easing his way onto the mattress in the hopes that he would not startle the person laying before him. He had to hand it to the boy, he was NOT ugly. Strands of caramel hair falling softly onto his shoulders, lithe frame that gave him an almost womanish appearance. He had the sleeping face of an angel.

But, fawning aside, Erik was here for a reason and it wasn't to ogle the Vicompte.

Erik gently laid himself next to the sleeping young man, Raoul's back to Erik's front. He couldn't wait to see the look on the young man's face. Biting his lip to stifle a chuckle, the oh so clever phantom of the opera gently laid his hand on Raoul's shoulder, shaking him lightly in an attempt to not wake him, but merely make him aware that there was another presence in the room. The young fop shifted slightly under the touch, but did not move either away or towards the touch. Thankfully, this is was Erik had wanted. He pressed a little harder, as well as moved his hand from the boy's shoulder to his neck, bare fingertips just lightly caressing the skin. Raoul shifted even more, his face contorting in a light smile, obviously not opposed to the touch. He was probably thinking it was Christine who had joined him through the secret corridor. The brunet rolled onto his back, forcing Erik back a little bit, and due to the movement, his arm was now laying across Raoul's chest.

"Christine?", he said softly. Erik grinned maliciously. This was turning out to be just too easy. Erik ran a finger down Raoul's jaw, bringing out a shiver from the younger man as well as causing him to draw closer to the sources of the touches. Erik propped his elbow up on the pillow and held his head in his hand, watching the Vicompte's reactions. To say that he wasn't enjoying this would have been untrue.

But he wasn't done yet. Erik ran his finger yet again over the boy's flesh, following the trail made by the spinal cord, an area he knew to be sensitive especially to light touches. Raoul shivered again and his breath caught in his throat. The Phantom grinned, laying his palm flat against the boy's back and then dragging it across his side to his abdomen, evoking yet another shiver and what could have almost have been a moan. This was too easy. Carefully, and with decided precision, Erik's hand found it's way under the Vicompte's clothing and ran up his stomach and chest. This time Raoul didn't even try to contain a moan of enjoyment. Erik leaned over ever so slightly so that his lips were by Raoul's ear. Now was as good a time as any to let the scarring for the rest of Raoul's life begin.

"Enjoying yourself, _cher_?" he whispered in the Vicompte's ear. That was all it took. Raoul's big doe eyes flew open and he immediately tried to scramble away from the Phantom. However, he forgot that Erik was much bigger then himself and was easily able to hold him in place, hands planted firmly on his hips.

"W-what are you doing! G-Get away from me!", Raoul demanded, his pleas only bringing a seductive smile to Erik's lips.

"Funny," he said quietly, leaning toward Raoul's face. "Only a moment ago you were moving nearer to me and now you tell me to get away? That's called sending mixed messages my dear Vicompte and it's quite infuriating."

"I-I thought you were Christine!", Raoul defended. Erik laughed.

"Come now my dear Vicompte, Christine's fingers are long and thin, the fingertips not at all worn down from years of playing the organ now are they?" Raoul was silent, knowing that regrettably the Phantom was right.

"Th-this isn't right..."

"Now you're just being silly. When have I ever cared about right and wrong, Raoul?" Raoul gulped, knowing this again was the truth. "With that in mind, you have to realize that human beings as a race like to be touched. Whether by a man or a woman is an unimportant factor. Close your eyes and you don't know who it is or what sex the person is. All you do know is that you're being touched and it's a wonderful feeling." As though to emphasize the point, Erik dragged his hand back down Raoul's chest and stomach, arousing another shudder/moan mix.

"I..."

"You are human as well Raoul. I know you like the way I'm touching you, so why not let me?" Enter a gentle and repetitive rub of the young man's stomach. Following this was another moan and shiver mixer. Erik's grin broadened when Raoul's body went lax, as though giving in to the sensations Erik was sending him.

The moment of glory, however, was interrupted by an abrupt knock on the door.

"Raoul!" It was Christine. "Raoul are you all right!"

"Christine!", the younger man said, sitting bolt upright. "Jesus, if she finds me like this-"

"No need to finish that sentence." By this point, Erik had already climbed off the bed and had the mirror partially opened, one foot inside the corridor. "Until next time my dear," he whispered, blowing a sarcastic kiss in the Vicompte's general direction. Without another word, the phantom of the opera disappeared. With his face slightly redder, Raoul rushed over to the door and quickly unlocked it. Christine wasted no time in flinging herself into her husband's arms.

"Oh Raoul, this is not a safe place! Erik could easily slip in through the mirror," she warned him. Raoul reluctantly put his arms around his frantic wife, not quite sure whether or not he should tell her about what had been going on in the room mere seconds before she'd arrived.

* * *

Madame Giry sat quietly in her chambers at the end of the day, combing out her hair and preparing for sleep. She had long since given up the search for Erik and abandoned any hope of keeping the Opera House safe. She sighed to herself in remembrance of some of the mischief he was already responsible for. The managers' office a wreck, Carlotta storming off the stage, every one of Christine's dresses being ruined, and she was sure that he had found some way of getting to the Vicompte. His mind seemed far off ever since they had found him in Christine's old room. Raoul claimed that she had arrived before Erik could really do anything but his demeanor suggested that _something_ had happened. Though what, he would not reveal. 

She was so wrapped up in her thoughts, that Madame Giry almost didn't notice the letter on her boudoir. Sealed with a red skull like all his letters, the letter was quickly picked up and opened. Giry made the observation, firstly, that the seal was rather sloppy, as though Erik were inebriated when he made it. She set this thought aside, and went on reading the letter.

_Madame,_

_Inform everyone that if they come anywhere near my home in the following week they will be either shot and/or stabbed on sight. For whatever reason, I've a splitting headache and no tolerance for fools. _

_Not even bothering with a signature. You know damn well who this is...dear God it hurts to blink..._

She sighed to herself, somewhat in frustration, somewhat in relief. He was off the sugar high but...he'd caused so much trouble that it would be hell to set things back to normal in the opera house.

"Worst day of my life," she said to herself, blowing out the candle and climbing into bed.

* * *

Raoul didn't join Christine in bed tonight, instead stayed up thinking, staring out the window. He couldn't get Erik's smirk out of his mind. Raoul knew deep in the back of his head that he would never live this day down, that it would haunt him till the day he died. 

"Was he trying to scar me or seduce me?", he asked himself. He was tired, confused...VERY confused...and, if nothing else, curious.

* * *

Erik moaned in pain, rolling over _yet again_ in an attempt to relieve the pressure on his head. If this was the aftermath of all those god-damned sugar tubes then he would never touch one again. 

Another moan and he turned over again, holding a pillow over his head to block out all the noise from above. People were still moving about, cleaning the isles and the seats, jabbering on and creating quite a stir. Erik growled angrily.

He'd never touch sugar again.

* * *

THE END

Hope you all enjoyed my story!


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